


Impatience is A Virtue

by Scruggzi



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: 12 days challenge, But is mildly amused, During shagnanigans, F/M, Mac is not fooled, accidental injury, references to light bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:04:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22818190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: Phryne calls in Dr Mac to check over a few injuries she and Jack have sustained. On a case. Totally on a case. No further questions...For the 12 Days of Miss Fisher Challenge prompt:Mac: Impatience is your middle name.Phryne: Virtue was already taken.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 26
Kudos: 182
Collections: 12 Days of Miss Fisher - Day 2





	Impatience is A Virtue

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Glamorouspixels and Arlome for the beta read 😘

_An aeroplane was not a very practical vehicle to push someone up against in a moment of passion; there were bolts and rivets, snags of sharp metal that caught on clothing and on skin. But she had been away for months without him, and sometimes needs must..._

“Phryne, you’ve been back in the country less than a day, and you’ve already managed to find trouble. I’d say I’m impressed, but I worry it would only encourage you.” Dr McMillan held up a remonstrating hand as Miss Fisher appeared about to defend herself, “No, stop. I don’t want the details, just show me where it hurts.”

_She didn’t feel the marks left by the plane, but she felt his mouth on her neck, the pinch and sting as he sucked a bruise over her pulse point, and the warmth of his exhalation as she reached down to open his trousers. Her grasping fingers leaving their own bruises on his hips and buttocks, the buckles of her flight boots tearing tiny gouges in the blue wool of his suit trousers. His overcoat hid a world of sins but it was still a miracle they remained undiscovered as rasped cries and kisses gave way to more traditional greetings, amused smiles and a hasty rearrangement of clothing._

“It wasn’t as bad as all that, Mac.” Phryne attempted to defend herself as if she didn’t know full well who she was talking to. “Just a small altercation, barely a scratch, really.”

“You wouldn’t have called me here for a scratch, Phryne.”

“Only, Jack got a bit of a bump on the head and you can’t be too careful with a head injury.”

She glared over at the inspector, who appeared to be silently praying for the ground to open up and swallow him.

“I’ve had worse. Although strangely enough, only since I met you.”

His response was of course directed at Phryne, and after putting up with years of these two and their ridiculous shenanigans Mac was not fooled into thinking it was intended as a criticism. No-one talking about serial head trauma should be allowed to do so in that tone of voice. It was practically a public safety issue. A phrase which, in her opinion, summed these two up nicely.

“I’ll be the judge of that, Inspector. Let me have a look at you.”

_They made it to the car, just. Once wasn’t enough. Not after so long apart. Not when he’d been dreaming of her mouth on him every night since her last letter and the detailed descriptions it contained. It was one of her favourite ways to make love to him. Watching him lose control, abandon all that reserve and sink willingly into her thrall, especially when her body was still lax and loose from climax and she could taste their mingled flavours on his skin. It felt powerful, decadent, illicit – all the more so in the back seat of a police motorcar._

_His hips bucked involuntarily, and he saw stars; his head smacked into the side window, not hard enough to crack the glass but it was a close call. Despite her protestations he would not agree to let her drive them home. It was just as well. If he had done, she would have been forced to take him straight to the hospital. As it was, they could afford a few more hours before calling Dr Mac…_

“Nothing serious, you’re right. You’re going to have a nasty bruise but the bone’s intact and the skin isn’t broken. You didn’t lose consciousness at all?”

“I may have been a little lightheaded, but not unconscious, no.”

Phryne was pursing her lips together in an effort not to laugh. Even Jack now appeared to be enjoying this whole charade far too much. Mac almost missed the days when the two detectives had exchanged nothing but suggestive banter and meaningful eye contact. At least back then she never got called in to keep score.

“Those look a bit nasty though.”

It was cruel of her to bring it up but the scratches on his wrists – quite obviously made by restraints of some sort – had been very obvious when she had taken his pulse. Jack’s face returned to an acceptable level of ruby-red mortification.

“Yes, lucky thing I came in time. Who knows what those ruffians had planned for you next?” Phryne’s voice was so high-pitched Mac was surprised the neighbourhood dogs didn’t howl in protest.

_He had been rather fond of that tie and would forever remember its sacrifice; after tonight it would never again be of any use for its intended purpose. The silk bit into his skin as he strained against the bindings, wanting to touch her, to feel the sweat-slicked skin of her hips beneath his fingers as she rode him hard and fast. Her face was flushed, his name a chant and a curse in her mouth, the marks he had left on her neck and chest a testament to their passions. She bent forward, forcing her breast into his face and ordered him to do it again…_

The Dankin’s Solution probably wasn’t necessary, although to the inspector’s credit he didn’t flinch at the sting of the antiseptic. Perhaps he enjoyed that sort of thing these days? Mac derailed that train of thought with the force of sheer will power. She really did not want to know, and if history was any guide, Phryne would at some point have too much whisky and tell her anyway. Till that day she would live in blessed ignorance.

It was not until she asked Phryne to pass her the arnica that she spotted the slight flinch, a less than graceful lilt to her friend’s usually fluid movements. She left Jack with the jar of ointment at once. Mac was very good at her job and she had been patching up Phryne Fisher since the day she’d met a grubby little street urchin, prone to picking fights with boys twice her size. There was no hiding from Dr Mac. That was why Phryne always called her.

“Phryne, come here and let me have a look at that shoulder.”

It was a testament to their friendship that Phryne’s only objection was an eyeroll and a swatting gesture with the apparently injured arm, which once again made her flinch. She removed the gauzy shawl that overlaid her camisole and had the good grace not to fabricate any further unconvincing excuses for the smattering of little bruises across her throat and chest. In fact, she actually appeared a little apprehensive.

A single look in Jack’s direction told Mac why. He might have been embarrassed before, but this injury was news to him, despite, presumably being the perpetrator. There was a brief flash of horror in his eyes before his face shut down entirely.

_When she finally returned the use of his arms to him, he lost no time, flipping her over till she was face down on the mattress and pulling her up on her knees. He had no need for bindings, fun as they were, a policeman’s hold was more than enough to keep her where he wanted her. Where she wanted to be. With her arm twisted behind her back she had little control over their movements, had to beg him for more, to go harder, go faster. He obliged, of course, powerless to disobey. They collapsed together after only minutes, sore and sated, a tangle of limbs, giggling, and soft, sleepy kisses, drifting slowly into peaceful slumber._

“Could be a lot worse.” Mac pronounced, wishing fervently that she could be somewhere else before the thunderhead gathering on Jack’s brow broke. “You’ve pulled a muscle here.”

“Ouch!” Phryne complained, as Mac probed the area, checking for more serious damage.

“It will heal up by itself in a couple of weeks as long as you avoid any strenuous ‘rescuing’ and don’t climb too many buildings. Perhaps the two of you can settle for a quiet night in and a game of draughts?”

The sarcasm was so lost on them she might as well have been talking to the wall. Her two friends appeared to be having a very intense conversation in meaningful silence, one for which her presence was not required. She took a steadying breath and a double measure of Phryne’s excellent whiskey - which she felt she had thoroughly earned - and left them to it, waving away their thanks in favour of a swift exit.

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving a brief silence in its wake. Phryne was the one to break it, hoping to head off danger at the pass.

“Before you start, Jack, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. Phryne I’m so sorry.” He sounded utterly wretched; she had feared all along he might try to place the blame on himself.

“Whatever for, Jack?” She slid onto his lap where he sat on the chaise, stroking her fingers tenderly along the back of his neck.

“I _hurt_ you, Phryne. God, I would never…how can you even look at me?”

She lifted his face, her eyes full of love and understanding, willing him to accept her role as active participant in their misadventure. Not to mention the instigator of most of it.

“Well, the view is rather nice. Although I prefer it without that furrow in your brow.” She attempted to smooth it away with her lips, but he turned away from her. “You did nothing wrong, Jack. If you had, I would be the first to tell you.”

“I hurt you.” He repeated, mulishly. Unable to reconcile the idea with the trust he still saw in her face.

“And I gave as good as I got. How’s the head, by the way?”

“That was an accident.”

“Yes, it _was_.” She sighed and gave him a small, slightly rueful smile. “We may _both_ have gotten a little carried away, but there’s no lasting damage done and…well, I thought it was worth it.”

He looked down at his hands, his cheeks hollowing with the clenching of his jaw. She waited, giving him the time he needed to consider what she had said. It was an effort to keep herself still, she was a woman always in motion, always filling the space she was in. Stillness was a skill she had learned from him, on the rare occasions she had cause to use it, and she sensed he needed it now. She covered his large hand with her slender one, tenderly stroking his palm with her thumb, and held her fire.

“You would tell me, if it was too much?” He knew the answer, of course, but right now he needed to hear her say it.

“I promise.”

He nodded, visibly relaxing into her touch as she resumed stroking the sensitive spot on the back of his neck. It might take a little time before he would fully trust himself again, but he trusted her, in this as in so many things. Phryne Fisher never made promises unless she intended to keep them.

“Although perhaps Mac’s right,” she added. The lilt of her voice held another kind of promise entirely – trouble – the kind she specialised in.

“Phryne?” 

There it was, the tiny little smirk you could almost miss if you didn’t know it was there. Victory.

“Maybe we should try for a slightly less strenuous rescue this evening?”

He chuckled into her kiss as she pushed him down into a more comfortable position from which to affect a thorough, if gentle, release from the restrictive confines of his trousers.


End file.
